Where Are The Stars?
by flying-doorknobs
Summary: Kyle has left home, but he isn't too keen on the idea of being alone. Stan comes with him, and the super best friends cross the country. Will they find what they're looking for across the US, or will they find that South Park has always been their true home? Or maybe they'll find what they're looking for in each other? (Stan x Kyle) Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters
1. 1: Fears, Possibilities, & Uncertainties

**Chapter One**

**Fear, Possibilities, and Uncertainties**

_Kyle's P.O.V._

"My life would be so much better if I didn't have to live in this shithole of a house in this shithole of a town!"

"Oh, you think so? Then why don't you just leave, Kyle? Leave and don't come back! Then see how much _better _your life is!"

"Fine! I was about to walk out the door anyways!"

The argument replays over and over in my head as I walk the streets of South Park alone. The whole stupid fight had started with my report card and the fact that it hadn't been up to my mother's standards. The whole stupid fight had ended with me tromping up the stairs to throw a few articles of clothing and anything with sentimental value to me into my old green backpack and pass my mother without so much as a glance before slamming the front door behind me.

Now, I'm wandering about in the dark and freezing my ass off. I try not to complain too much to myself considering I'm not at home anymore and I'm not arguing with my mother. Not to mention the fact that it doesn't take me too long to realise I can just head over to Stan's house and figure this whole thing out tomorrow.

My shoulders are getting tired and my fingers start to feel numb by the time I reach the familiar dark green house where I had spent so much of my childhood. I'm relieved to see a light shining through the front window, though I'm pretty sure it's just Stan's father staying up late to watch the food channel with a beer clutched in his fist.

I don't hesitate to reach out a gloved hand and ring the doorbell, despite how late it is. I hear the muffled chime of the bell followed shortly by a few swear words as I wait outside on the porch.

The door is eventually swung open by a disheveled Randy Marsh, standing in a blue button-down shirt and a white pair of boxer briefs. As expected, he is holding a half-empty bottle of beer.

"Kyle? What the hell are you doing here?" he asks, squinting his eyes at me.

I shuffle my feet awkwardly before looking up to meet his eyes.

"It's kind of a long story. Can I just talk to Stan? And maybe spend the night?" I mumble. A slight pink colour tints my cheeks as the question leaves my lips.

I had run away.

And now I was asking for help from one of my friend's parents.

Didn't that kind of defeat the purpose of running away?

I'm jarred out of my thought process as Randy speaks again. "Yeah, I guess. But Stan's probably asleep by now," he answers, scratching the back of his neck as he steps aside to let me in the house.

I mumble a quiet thanks as I follow him inside, keeping my eyes directed towards the ground. There's a long, silent pause between me and Stan's father, but it is thankfully broken when someone softly comes padding down the stairs. I look up to see who it is, and a soft smile dances over my lips as my eyes lock with Stan's piercing blue ones. He smiles back, but the expression doesn't stay on his face long.

"Dad? Why is Kyle here?" he asks, his brows knitting together in concern.

Stan's dad shrugs and plops down on the couch again, taking a swig of his beer. Stan rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak again, but he's cut off when Randy answers.

"I dunno. Why don't you ask him?"

Stan looks a little irritated, but he shrugs and gestures for me to follow him up the stairs. We pass by his mother in the hall, and she doesn't ask any questions. She looks tired and annoyed, and truth be told, she probably had more questions for Randy. I had heard he wasn't supposed to be watching the cooking channel anymore, and he was probably in for a worse scolding than I had gotten from my mother.

The two of us quietly pass by Shelley's room and enter Stan's room before he closes the door behind us, taking care to lock it so that we aren't interrupted.

I sigh and head straight for the bed, throwing my backpack down next to it before practically flinging myself onto the nice, soft piece of furniture. Stan cocks an eyebrow and pulls out his desk chair so he has a place to sit while I selfishly take up most of the bed.

"Dude, are you okay? What happened?" he asks. I notice his face go back to that same concerned expression he wore in the living room. It's hard for me to focus on him long though, considering he has his desk lamp on behind him and I'd probably end up needing a guide dog if I stared in that direction for too long. I direct my gaze up to the ceiling instead, where my eyes meet with a John Elway poster that looks like it's two gusts of wind away from falling down on me.

It takes me a while to register the fact that he asked a question, and he's probably waiting for an answer.

"My mom and I had a fight. I kinda ran off and I don't really have any intention of going back," I answer softly.

I have to keep my voice monotone to prevent myself from showing any emotion. It's not that I feel like I can't show any emotion in front of Stan, but I don't really favour the idea of feeling vulnerable at the moment.

Stan doesn't say anything, but I know him well enough to know that he probably nodded in understanding and is still thinking of a response.

"I know how you feel, man. I don't really think I'd ever leave, but my family's not the best either. I'm still counting down the days until my eighteenth," he says finally, his voice just about as monotone as mine. Obviously, it's not gonna be a night full of sharing feelings and crying on each other's shoulders. There's another silence, but this time I'm the one trying to think of a reply.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do, dude," I say, exhaling a shaky sigh, "I don't wanna go back, 'cause then she wins. But it's not like I have anywhere to go, and I don't wanna mooch off you forever. Plus, she'll probably have the cops out looking for me by morning and claim she didn't mean anything she said. Then she'll tell me I'll always be her little boy and that she'll love me no matter what and that she wants me to be happy. And my entire family will know that's complete and utter bullshit…"

I break off before my rant starts to get too long and emotional. I don't want to get emotional. I want to stay pissed off, and I want to make sure I'm pissed off long enough to get out of this crackpot town and far enough away so that I can't come back.

"I know dude, you don't have to explain it to me," Stan says, clearly noticing the change in my tone. "Why don't you just sleep on it? We can deal with the whole thing in the morning."

I'm very grateful for his dismissal. I nod and move to get off the bed. I really didn't mind sleeping on the floor if it meant I was away from my house, but not out on the streets.

"No, stay there," Stan says, holding out a hand to stop me from getting up. "I have a sleeping bag. You can have the bed."

I'm about to protest when I see the look in his eyes and ease back into the mess of pillows and sheets. He wants to help, despite not ever being the kind of person who knows anything about dealing with feelings. He figures if he can help by lending me his bed for the night, that's what he'll do.

Stan leaves the room to retrieve a sleeping bag, and I panic for a moment, not liking the idea of being alone with my thoughts. I try to push everything that enters my mind away and think of other things, but my thoughts always return to my situation. For the first time that night, I was truly terrified of what I had gotten myself into.

When Stan returns, I swallow the lump in my throat and watch him as he lays out the sleeping bag on the floor next to the bed. Stan glances up in my direction and flashes me a small smile before crossing the room to turn of his desk lamp. I'm actually somewhat glad for the darkness; now Stan can't see any panicked or sickened expressions that might detail my face as I lie awake, unable to get any sleep.

I hear the shuffling of him walking back to the sleeping bag followed by even more shuffling as he gets into it, and finally the sound of the zipper and him turning over once more.

Another blanket of silence covers the room, but it's not nearly as scary as it was last time, now that I know Stan is right next to me, and he'll help me through all of it. He's been my best friend for years, so of course I can trust him to help me out of this, right?

Worry starts to plague my mind again.

What if he can't help me through this situation? What if he doesn't _want _to help me through this situation? What if everything with Stan works out, but my mom fucks it all up like she always does? What if-

"Kyle?"

I exhale a sigh of relief as his voice jolts me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to worry, you know that, right?"

Now I worry that Stan can somehow read minds and he knows everything I'm thinking.

"Yeah."

"I'll be there for you, no matter what. If shit goes down, I'm going down with you, you know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

I smile genuinely for the first time that night, and despite how little I contributed to that conversation, I really do feel comforted. Maybe I will be able to get some sleep tonight. Hopefully.

I turn over to face the bedroom wall and pull the covers up to my chin, finally allowing my heavy eyes to droop shut.

"Kyle?"

At first, I'm confused as to why it's Stan's voice waking me up, but it doesn't take long for last night's events to come flooding back to me.

I'm still at Stan's house. In Stan's bed. Because I ran away from home.

I blink my eyes a few times as I groggily regain my bearings and look up to meet Stan's eyes.

"Yeah?" I mumble, my voice tainted with sleep.

"I just figured I should wake you up for breakfast," he answers. He looks a little guilty that he woke me up from such a peaceful sleep that I doubted I'd ever get again. I flash him a smile to let him know it's okay, and sit up in bed, running a hand through my matted red curls.

"Thanks. Is it your mom or your dad cooking?" I ask jokingly, recalling the fact that last time I saw Mr. Marsh, he was buzzed and watching the food channel.

Stan rolls his eyes. "Hopefully, my mom is cooking and we can expect burnt pancakes," he answers wryly. I give a soft chuckle in response and pull the covers away from my legs, sighing as the chilly air replaced the warmth I had been surrounded in mere seconds ago.

I manage to wrench myself out of bed and follow Stan out of the room. As soon as we step into the hall, the smell of burnt pancakes hits me like a truck. I'm not sure whether to be thankful or worried about my stomach.

Stan grins as he picks up the pace in leading me downstairs and into the kitchen. I take this as a sign to be thankful.

When we reach our destination, everyone else is already there. Shelley shoots us both a glare before going back to her stack of nearly black pancakes and Randy is sitting across from her, pouting and arms crossed over his chest. I figure he's mad because he didn't get to do the cooking.

Sharon glances our way before she finishes another batch of pancakes on the stove. She slides them onto a couple of plates and hands one to each of us. I notice she's taken care to give me the stack that looks just a little less burnt than the other.

"Butter and syrup is on the table kids," she informs. Her voice is softer than usual, which strikes me as odd. I start to internally panic again, thinking she somehow knew the whole situation. I stop these thoughts by scolding myself for being so naive, and remember the fact that only Stan knew what had happened. I hadn't told Randy or Sharon.

It probably wasn't that hard to figure out though.

I calm myself down again by hastily buttering my stack of pancakes and dousing them in syrup, hoping it would drown out the burnt flavour. Stan follows suit and we both shove forkful after forkful into our mouths without bothering to make conversation.

It's Stan's mother who finally breaks the tension-filled silence after sitting down with her own blackened stack of pancakes and flavouring it in much the same way Stan and I had.

"Kyle, your mother called this morning."

My fork stops halfway to my mouth.

_What?_

No, no, no, no. This ruined everything. Now I would have to go back. I couldn't have that.

All eyes were now on me as I tried to come up with a reply. Syrup dripped from my fork as it remained suspended in my hand.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her you were over here. She's on her way to pick you up now."

* * *

><p><strong>Sooooo I hope that was a good start to this story lmao. The next chapter should be up shortly, maybe within a couple days, within a week at the most! For once I'm actually motivated to finish a story, so this is gonna be what I'm working on for the next few months. I plan to make it long, so buckle in, motherfuckers<strong>


	2. 2: Split Second Decisions

**Chapter Two**

**Split Second Decisions**

_Stan's P.O.V._

I don't think I've ever seen the colour drain from someone's face _that _fast.

Before I can say anything to try and calm him down, Kyle has thrown his fork down on the plate and pushed away from the table. I sigh and flash my mother a glare before getting up to follow him up the stairs.

"Kyle, wait!" I call after him. He probably can't even hear me over the sound of himself stomping up the stairs.

By the time I reach the top of the stairs, he's already slammed my bedroom door behind him. I hope he hasn't locked it.

I approach the door slowly and knock a couple times before turning the handle and entering the room.

Kyle is hurriedly shoving things back in his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder when I open the door. When he realises he's not alone, he turns to me and stares for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights. I notice his eyes are red and his cheeks are tearstained.

Shit, I never was the best at comforting people.

Tentatively, I walk over to him and pat him awkwardly on the shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring. His pained emerald eyes meet mine, and he tries to smile, though the corners of his mouth barely lift at all.

"It's gonna be okay, remember? You go down, I go down with you," I say, smiling back. Kyle sighs. He doesn't seem to be very calmed by my words.

"Stan, I have to go," he says. I notice his eyes flicker between the window and the door as if he's trying to plot an escape route.

"Then I'll go with you," I reply hastily. He gives me a look like that's the craziest idea he's ever heard in his life. Maybe it is.

"You just said last night that you wouldn't ever leave home," he points out, crossing his arms over his chest. I internally curse myself for the blush that tints my cheeks after he says this.

"That was under different circumstances," I mumble, turning to open the closet door to my left.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asks. He still hasn't moved from his position by the window, nor has he changed his stance. The only thing different about him is his expression. His brows are raised and the pained look in his eyes from before was erased and replaced with a hopeful one.

"I told you. I'm coming with you," I answer nonchalantly, digging through the mess on my floor until I grab one of the straps of my blue backpack and start throwing clothes into it at random. I grab a couple bags of doritos from under my bed and pause for a moment, thinking about the picture of Wendy in my bottom drawer, debating whether or not to take it. Our relationship had been on and off again for years, currently off. If it was off, then it shouldn't matter to me - or to her, for that matter - whether or not I took the picture.

I've always been somewhat bull-headed.

The picture stays in my bottom drawer and I zip up the backpack before slinging it over one shoulder and striding over to Kyle again. His eyes are wide and his jaw hangs open. It's almost comical, really.

"Ready to go?" I ask. When Kyle doesn't answer, I flash him a grin and gesture for him to follow me out of the room.

Together, the two of us make our way down the steps silently, making sure no one is in the living room. They're all still in the kitchen, and we can make out a faint argument between my mother and my father. That's one thing I won't have to put up with anymore.

Kyle locks eyes with me, as if he's waiting for my direction. I realise I had been caught up in listening to my parents fighting about how the situation should've been handled. I speculate divorce papers will litter the kitchen table within the week.

I simply sigh and continue to lead him through the house, wincing when the front door creaks upon my opening it. No one in the kitchen seems to notice over the yelling.

Once we're both safely out on the porch, I close the door behind us and Kyle and I walk down the steps and down the driveway. I pause before walking farther away to look my house over one last time and salute it farewell.

After I figure I've stared at my old residence long enough, the two of us walk silently down the sidewalk. We seem to have an unspoken agreement to keep our stride fast, knowing that if we want to get anywhere, we have to get far away quickly.

It's Kyle who finally breaks the silence when we near the edge of town.

"Where are we going?"

The question makes me feel oddly childish. Like we're a couple kids who got mad at their parents and decided to circle the block before they decide they can't make it on their own and return home. But that's not what we're doing. We really are leaving, and we've already gotten farther than a block.

"I don't know. Where do you want to go?" I ask, instantly regretting the slight snappy undertone in my voice. Kyle seems to ignore it.

"Anywhere but here."

"That's not specific enough. We need a destination."

"Can't we just get on a bus? Wherever the bus is heading, that's where we'll go."

That actually doesn't sound like too bad of an idea. It just now crosses my mind that we freed ourselves and we can go wherever we want. If a bus is going out to California, we'll go to California. If a bus is going to Nebraska, we'll go to Nebraska.

The idea loses it's appeal when I realise I hadn't brought any money.

"I wish," I grumble as I pick up the pace again. Kyle frowns.

"What do you mean 'I wish'? We can do whatever we want, can't we?"

"We don't have money for a bus ticket, Kyle," I answer simply. Kyle seems to think this over for a moment.

"Then let's go get money."

"How?" I start to think that maybe running off isn't as easy as we first thought it might be.

"We'd have to walk back to the bank, but it's not too far back," he answers, already turning around and heading back into the throng of the town. I chew on my bottom lip for a moment, trying to decide whether or not that's really a good idea. It's not like we have anything to lose though. We could get caught at the bank, but without money, we'll probably get caught no matter what we do.

I run to catch up to Kyle.

The rest of our walk to the bank is silent, but I don't really mind this. I use the lack of distraction to survey the area around us and make sure we aren't seen by anyone who would know us. We have a few close calls, considering everyone knows everyone in a tiny mountain town like South Park. We manage to make it to the bank without hindrance though, because every time I spot someone who knows us, I pull Kyle behind the nearest building or tree.

Thankfully, the bank is quiet, and there aren't many people in it. My eyes sweep the area once more before we approach the teller, who greets us with an overly-cheery hello.

While Kyle deals with the teller, trying to come up with a viable excuse for needing to extract _all _his money, I keep an eye out for anyone else.

It takes Kyle a while to convince the teller to agree to his request, but in the end he wins her over by reminding her that _he _is the customer and it wouldn't be difficult for him to contact her manager. He could've sounded a little less irritated when he said it though. Kyle gets irritated too easily.

We're waiting for the teller to return when the bell above the bank door chimes again. Both of our heads turn to face whoever had just entered, and my heart starts pounding furiously when a familiar figure in a familiar orange parka walks in, followed by a small girl in an oversized green jacket.

Kenny McCormick stops in his tracks when his hazel eyes fall on us. His initial expression is one of confusion, but it slowly turns to one of concern. He approaches us cautiously, taking Karen's hand and leading her along behind him.

"Hey," he says casually, though his eyes sweep over the both of us warily, like he knows exactly what's going on. Chances are the news has made it to the McCormick household already.

I can hear Kyle swallow the lump in his throat beside me.

"Hey Kenny. What are you doing here?" he asks. He should've let me do the talking. He sounds way too nervous.

"I'm here to set Karen up with her own bank account so my parents can stop dipping into her allowance for crack," he explains. His nonchalant tone is invaded by a slightly bitter undertone. Kyle and I nod awkwardly, neither of us knowing how to respond to something like that.

Kenny shrugs off the awkward air, and he looks like he's about to question us.

"What are you two doing here?"

My hypothesis turned out to be correct. I struggle to think of a response, but it's a difficult feat under the pressure of his all-knowing gaze.

"You have to swear not to tell anyone," Kyle blurts out. I shoot him a glare. It's a clearly readable glare with the message clearly spelling out 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'

Kenny grins and holds up his right hand.

"I swear on my life," he says. It almost sounds like he's joking, but most people wouldn't joke if they were swearing something on their lives.

"We ran off," Kyle explains.

"I knew that."

"Right. Well we kind of forgot to bring money, so I'm taking everything out of my bank account." This response warrants a chuckle from Kenny.

"This doesn't sound like a very well-planned journey," he remarks. I roll my eyes, slightly annoyed at the comment and how right he really was.

"We'll manage," I reply.

"Do you have any idea where you're going? You could end up in fucking Detroit for all you know. Then what are you gonna do when you run out of money? Are you guys gonna start sucking dick for cash? Why do you think _I _haven't left yet? Because the idea's fucking stupid," Kenny says. He sounds a little angry now, and I wince at his words.

"Look, I said we'll manage," I growl back. Kenny and I stare each other down for a moment. Karen is hiding behind Kenny and Kyle is practically hiding behind me as well. Most of the people in the bank have stopped to watch the exchange.

"You don't even have a legitimate reason for leaving. Kyle got in a fight with his mom. He needs to suck it up and go home. Your lives aren't as shitty as you make them out to be," Kenny retorts before approaching another teller. He turns back to us before facing the counter. "Don't bother to say goodbye either. I'm sure you'll be back."

I don't bother to reply. Instead, I return my attention to our teller, who's holding a load of cash, nicely sorted into stacks of fifties. Kyle mumbles a thank you to the teller and hands me the cash so that I can stuff it in his backpack.

We exit the bank and I make a point of not looking back at Kenny when we go. Kyle looks back a couple times, though, and I think I see something like regret in his eyes. I decide not to comment.

The two of us walk back down the same path we walked earlier until we reach the outskirts of town, not too far away from a Greyhound station. We're currently in front of a cafe which is busy with people stopping for lunch.

"Do you think it's safe to get something to eat here or do we need to get farther away?" Kyle asks. I ponder his question for a moment. I'm hungry, but I'm also a little too paranoid for my own good.

"Let's get on a bus. We can eat at wherever we stop," I answer. We continue walking.

Eventually, we come to a stop in front of the station, where several homeless people are camped out. A couple of them ask us for money, but we keep on walking like we didn't hear them. I felt pretty bad about it, but we need the money just as much as they do. After all, we're homeless too, aren't we?

Kyle and I walk inside and waste no time getting in line to purchase tickets. We figure out that the next bus was bound for Alabama, but that doesn't really appeal to either of us. I sigh and turn to confer with Kyle.

"Where do you wanna go?" I ask again, now thinking maybe we really did need a plan.

"Do we even have to leave the state? We could just go to Denver, and I'm sure it'd be cheap," he says thoughtfully. I think on that for a moment. Hell, why not? I doubt anyone would really go looking for us there. And it's still close enough to South Park that we could go back if we really got in some deep shit.

"Denver works," I say, turning back to the attendant. He tells us each ticket would cost $16.35, and Kyle turns around so I can retrieve a fifty from his backpack. The man at the counter makes change and hands both of us a ticket.

We thank him and turn to sit in a couple of chairs by Gate F, where the ticket says our bus will be pulling in. While we wait, I pull the bags of doritos out of my backpack and hand one to Kyle. We snack on those for a while, making small talk with the people around us until our bus pulls in some twenty minutes later. I roll the bags up and put them back in my pack before we stand and exit the station to get on the bus.

The driver takes our tickets and I flash Kyle a grin before stepping onto the bus and leading us to the back where we sit down next to each other.

"Man, I can't believe we're actually doing this," Kyle says softly, a smile now stretching over his lips as well. I'm glad the both of us are finally feeling optimistic about our plan - or lack thereof.

"Me neither. I'm glad we are though," I reply. I actually am happy to be going away from everything. My bitchy sister, my venom-spewing parents, and my psycho teachers are all people I'm glad to be rid of. Sure, I'll miss some of my friends, but it's not like I'm going this alone. I'll have Kyle with me the whole time.

"It'll be an adventure, that's for sure," he says. The word 'adventure' brings me back to my childhood. It seemed like some crazy shit happened at least every other day. With any luck, that's not what would happen. With any luck, this would be more like the things you saw on tv, where a couple friends would cross the country together, just partying, relaxing, and having a good time.

I nod in response as more people file onto the bus, though it never does get very full. A woman sits down across the aisle from us, so all conversation of our new lives as teenage runaways ceases immediately. I can't help but wonder if Kenny had told anyone he had seen us. Even if he had, it was too late now. Kyle and I were already on a bus.

As soon as people are done getting on the bus, it starts moving and I lean my head against the window. It would be a two hour bus ride, so I figure I might as well try to get some sleep. My eyes refuse to shut though. I'm actually _excited _about this, and I can't stop thinking about all the things Kyle and I would do together without anyone to stop us. It's my first real taste of freedom.

Kyle must be feeling the same, because he sits beside me, grinning like an idiot. The sight only widens my own grin.

* * *

><p><em>Kyle's P.O.V.<em>

The two hour bus ride only seems to take ten minutes. The bus has stopped in Denver at a much larger Greyhound station filled with many more homeless people. At least we fit in here.

I turn to Stan - who finally seems to be drifting off - and nudge him in the arm to let him know the bus has stopped and we're getting off.

"Goddamnit, I was almost asleep," he says, though his tone is playful.

"Well don't fall asleep on me yet, because this is just the beginning," I reply, getting out of my seat and tapping my foot somewhat impatiently while I wait for Stan to groggily rise as well.

This time, it's me leading the way down the aisle. I practically prance my way off of the bus, recognising the fact that if Cartman was here, he'd be calling me a total gaywad.

But Cartman isn't here.

It's just me and Stan, and we've got our own futures ahead of us. Said futures most definitely do _not _involve Cartman.

Stan follows me off the bus, looking slightly less gay than I did, and the two of us end up on the sidewalk, gazing up at the buildings towering above us. We turn to look at each other, and I think that's the biggest I've ever seen Stan smile.

I take one of his hands in mine, lacing our fingers together and raising both of our hands above our heads triumphantly.

"You ready for an adventure, Stan?"

"Hell yeah."

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so the end was a little cheesy, fuck you. But I like it. Expect another update sometime soon! The next one will probably be a lot longer though, so it may take more than a day lol<strong>


	3. 3: So Much For No Homo

**Warning: This chapter gets hella sexual at the end so consider yourself warned against all this gayness lmaooo**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

**So Much For No Homo**

_Kenny's P.O.V._

I think the main reason I lashed out at Stan was because I was jealous. Stan doesn't have anything holding him here, and Kyle's selfish enough to be able to leave everything and everyone he does have holding him here.

I can't do that.

I have Karen to look after, Kevin to try vainly to steer back on the right track, and my parents to make sure they don't drink, smoke, or shoot up into oblivion.

If that weren't the case, I probably would've left a really long time ago.

That is the case though, and I'm stuck here while Stan and Kyle, with nothing holding them back and nothing sending them away, go off on some grand adventure.

It takes me a little while to stop wallowing in my self-pity before I decide to pick up my old flip phone and start dialing Kyle's home phone number. My fingers linger over the buttons and I hesitate for a long time before actually dialing.

The dial tone sounds and I feel a pang of guilt in my stomach. It kind of makes me want to shoot myself in the head.

I hear the dial tone again and I have to keep pushing away the guilt now gnawing at my insides. I shouldn't feel too guilty though, should I? I swore on my life I wouldn't tell anyone, and it's not like my life is worth much. If I get killed in some sort of freak accident because I told Kyle's mom what was going on, I'll come back the next day, and my oath would have been meaningless.

The tone rings for the third time, and I begin to hope that maybe Kyle's mom won't even pick up. Maybe I really should just forget about it. It's not like they told me where they were going. My calling Mrs. Broflovski wouldn't matter. It would be-

"Broflovski residence. Who am I speaking to?"

I'm actually kind of relieved to hear Gerald's voice instead of Sheila's.

"Uh, it's Kenny. I was calling about Kyle-"

"Kyle? Do you know where he is? Is he with you?" Emotion floods into his voice, and it makes me feel a lot less bad about snitching, even if I can't offer much information.

"I don't know where he is currently, but he was at the bank fifteen minutes ago. He took out all his money," I inform him. I hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. He was probably expecting a little more useful information.

"He's smart, I'll give him that much. Is that all you know?" His voice seems to fall, and it's now void of the hope it held mere seconds ago.

"If I had to guess, they went to the Greyhound station, but I don't know where they're going," I answer. Maybe I should've followed them.

I hear another sigh.

"Well, thanks Kenny. Call again if you find out anything else, okay?"

"Will do, Mr. Broflovski."

I hang up the phone and throw myself back down on my bed.

Fuck, I really need a joint.

_Kyle's P.O.V._

As far as cheap room service goes, the food in this hotel is actually pretty good.

I'm sitting down on the edge of one bed, chowing down on a turkey sandwich and Stan is sitting on the one across the room eating a salad. After the baby cows, he's always tried to be vegetarian, but I do catch him slip up every once in a while, so I'm not sure why he still tries.

Stan breaks the silence after wiping a bit of salad dressing from the corner of his mouth.

"What do you wanna do now? I mean, we can literally do anything, but I don't really know what to do," he says with a slight chuckle. It brings a smile to my lips to know that even if he is clueless as to what to do, he _is _enjoying himself.

"Why don't we celebrate?" I suggest, perking up at the idea that forms in my head. Stan raises an eyebrow.

"Celebrate how?"

"I dunno, we could go to a bar or something."

"We're underage. As much as I love the idea, I doubt it'll happen."

I pause to think of a way around our handicap. Then, I remember the stacks upon stacks of fifties in my backpack.

"I'm sure the bartender wouldn't mind serving a couple underage kids if he had a little extra incentive," I say, grinning and pulling one of the stacks out from the front pocket. Stan matches my grin and puts his salad down on the bedside table.

"Ready when you are," he says. He stands up and moves towards the door. I put the rest of my sandwich down and follow after him, despite not really being dressed for a night at the bar. I have to remind myself that it doesn't matter, and anyone who would see me would be a shitfaced stranger, and that they wouldn't give two fucks about my appearance.

The two of us exit the hotel room and make our way into the lobby, where they have maps of Denver sorted neatly into folders on the wall. Stan picks one up and I look over his shoulder while we try to find the bar nearest to our hotel. Once we've located it, Stan shoves the map in his pocket and we wave farewell to the bellhop before walking back out onto the street.

I'm glad to find that the walk to the bar isn't a very long one.

We make it there just before sundown, and we get a few looks from patrons who know we're not supposed to be in a bar, but we just shrug them off and head over to the counter. Both of us start off easy, with nothing more than a beer, which the bartender was glad to provide for an extra fifty. I made sure he knew there was more where that came from if he kept accommodating our alcoholic needs.

Stan chugs his down like a professional, and I try to follow suit, though I'm nowhere near as used to alcohol as he is. I wince as it burns down my throat, and I must've made a face at the taste because Stan lets out a bout of laughter.

"You can't hold your liquor, can you Kyle?" he teases, his eyebrows are cocked and he wears a playfully amused expression.

"I can hold my liquor just fine," I retort, not realising at the moment that I had just accepted an unspoken challenge.

"Let's see about that," he says, waving the bartender over to order a round of shots. He pours a tray of six shot glasses, filling each with a crystal clear substance. I should've known Stan would choose vodka.

Stan smirks and picks up one of the glasses, holding it up so that I can clink mine against his.

"To our new lives," he says before throwing his head back and downing the glass.

"To our better lives," I agree. I'm far more hesitant to down the glass than he is. I give myself an internal pep talk, scolding myself for being such a fucking pussy, then I raise the glass to my lips and swallow the liquid. The burn down my throat is worse than the one from the beer.

Four or five shots later, my face is flushed red and I'm clinging onto Stan's jacket, laughing my ass off over a joke I can't remember anymore.

Eventually, I regain my composure and attempt to focus on Stan's eyes. I can't decide which Stan to focus on, so I follow each of them, my eyes darting back and forth over the space where I think the real Stan's face should be. All of the Stans are wearing incredibly amused looks on their faces.

"Damn, you really can't hold your liquor too well," he says, and I manage to detect a hint of a slur to his voice.

"Ha! You can't either! You can't fucking talk properly," I slur back. My voice is probably barely intelligible at all.

"At least my words still sound like words," he retorts. He attempts to punch me playfully in the shoulder, but he misses by about a foot and ends up sending a few shot glasses crashing to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.

This sends me into another hysterical fit of giggles, and Stan slowly starts laughing with me. Everyone in the bar turns to look at us, and we get a few dirty looks, but I'm really too drunk to give a shit.

My laughter comes to a halt when I feel a soft hand on my shoulder and hear a pretty voice from behind me.

"Are you boys okay?"

Stan and I both whip our heads around to see who's speaking to us. There stands a girl of about our age with long, copper hair and cloudy green eyes. She's dressed in a low-cut purple top and a leather miniskirt. My drunk brain tells me she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life. Stan must've been thinking the same, because his brows raise up into his hairline.

He looks her over and grins.

"Perfectly fine. I think I speak for myself and for my friend here when I say we are perfectly happy enjoying the gorgeous view in front of us," he says. He tries to wink, but his motor skills are way off and he just ends up doing some sort of creepy blink thing.

The girl grins back and her eyes flicker between the two of us.

"Neither of you look so bad yourselves," she says, managing the wink much better than Stan had. She continues speaking. "But you both look pretty shitfaced, and I think it's time to go home.

My face falls.

"Noooo," I protest, "I'm having fun!"

The girl giggles and takes both of our hands.

"You're cute when you're pouting. Let me take you home," she says, pulling us up from our seats at the bar. I'm not entirely sure how she manages to do this in the heels she's wearing.

I don't protest at all at the idea of going home with a beautiful stranger.

"Where do you live? I'll drive you back," she says once we're outside the bar. Neither of us are anywhere near sober enough to remember the name of our hotel.

"Some hotel somewhere," Stan slurs.

"It's not too far," I add, probably a little too eagerly.

"I think I know the one," she says, guiding us through the parking lot as we try to stumble our way to her car. The girl helps us into the back of her black BMW, and then gets in the front to start the car.

The ride back to the hotel is filled with giggling and flirting from all directions. I don't mind any of it. It's the most fun I've had in a long while, and I don't doubt that if I was still in South Park, I'd be at home reading a book or even sleeping right now.

After about fifteen minutes, the car pulls into the parking lot of the hotel that thankfully, Stan and I both recognise. Our party gets out of the car and we laugh our way into the lobby and up to the third floor. I fumble with the key in the lock for a few minutes before finally making it fit and turning the handle.

Once everyone is inside the room, I close the door behind us and plop myself down on the couch.

"Don't tell me you're gonna go to sleep now," the girl says, feigning a hurt expression, "I wanted to annoy the neighbours."

Stan visibly perks up at that and I sit straight up on the couch. Our companion approaches me and sits herself on my lap, straddling my thighs and wrapping her arms around my neck. Stan purses his lips, clearly a little jealous.

"Sounds like a plan," I reply, sending a smirk in Stan's direction before placing my hands on the girl's waist and setting my lips on her neck. I leave a trail of rough kisses up to her jawline and nip gently at her earlobe.

"I think your friend feels a little left out," she breathes, smiling deviously at me. My thoughts are directed back to Stan and my eyes move from her to him. He's standing by the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

The girl gets off my lap and walks across the room to where Stan is standing, leaving me to sit there already hot and bothered. She takes his hands and leads him back over to the couch, pressing down on his shoulders so he'll sit down next to me. She then proceeds to sit down on his lap, and he brings his lips up to meet hers while his hands wander under her shirt.

She grabs his wrists before he gets very far up.

"If you wanna touch me, there's a catch," she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Stan raises an eyebrow and grins.

"Whatever you want, gorgeous," he says, returning my smirk from earlier.

"If you wanna touch me, you've gotta touch him first," she purrs, directing her gaze in my direction again. I look to Stan expectantly, not at all minding the idea of that. The two of us lock eyes and he shrugs. I take that to mean he doesn't mind either. He looks back to the girl on his lap, his grin widening.

"Deal," he says, gently nudging her off his lap. She now sits herself on the coffee table in front of the couch and her eyes flicker between us.

"Any day now," the girl teases, waiting for one of us to make a move.

"C'mere, dude," Stan says, waving me closer to him.

I scoot closer to him on the couch and he takes me by the hips, pulling me into a sitting position on his lap where our female friend just was. I let out a small whimper and Stan smirks, pulling my hips down to grind against his.

"Let's give her a show," he mutters as he starts to kiss hungrily up my neck. A couple more soft surprised sounds escape my lips, but I soon ease into the feeling and dip my head down to meet his lips with mine.

Stan kisses me back eagerly and bucks his hips upwards needfully against mine. His hands wander down to the waistband of my jeans and I waste no time in helping him to get them off. I kick them off behind me and grind my hips against Stan's again. He cups my ass in his hands and presses my hips roughly against his, continuing to thrust upwards.

I let out a shaky moan into the kiss and he takes this as a signal to move his hands from my ass to my upper thighs and slowly creep them upwards to the waistband of my boxers. I roll my hips against his touch and he quickly pulls the boxers down and takes my erect cock in one of his hands. A low moan resonates through my throat as he starts working my member with slow, firm strokes.

He starts moving his hand faster and I rock my hips against his touch, letting out another groan every time he flicks his wrist just right. Stan must've felt encouraged by the sounds I was making, because he strengthens his grip on my cock and speeds up his motions even more. His lips move away from my mouth and start to suck on my neck, leaving dark purple marks behind.

It's not long before I can't take it anymore, and I let out a cry as I reach my climax, spilling seed all over the front of Stan's shirt. I rest my forehead against his shoulder, trying to catch my breath. The sound of quiet applause comes from behind me.

I had actually managed to forget about the girl in the room with us.

"Very nicely done, boys," she praises. She gets up from her position on the coffee table and approaches us with a grin. "Now let's get this party started for real."

For the rest of the night, she pays plenty of attention to both of us but it's really a miracle she managed to get me off at all. The entire time, even while I was fucking her, I couldn't help but wish I was fucking _Stan._ There was a gorgeous pair of tits right in front of me, and all I could focus on was Stan's dick the whole night.

The notion disturbs me a little bit, but not enough to stop me from practically passing out when the whole ordeal is over. After a night like this, I'm very glad to be getting some sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning, I wake up with a furious pounding in my head. I'm tangled up with two other naked bodies, one of them belonging to Stan and the other belonging to the girl we had met last night. At first, I'm a little confused, but the events of last night all hit me like a train.<p>

I remember getting shitfaced at some bar and bringing the girl home with us. I remember Stan jacking me off. The rest of the night must not have been too memorable, because I can't remember any of it.

As soon as I start to stir, so do the both of them, and Stan sits up in the bed, rubbing his temples and muttering the word 'fuck' over and over to himself. The girl laying between us is the last to fully awaken.

"Good morning, boys. One hell of a hangover, huh?" she says, though she's smiling brightly. Unluckily for her, neither Stan nor I are morning people.

Stan doesn't reply, and I just dart my eyes down to the bedsheets in my lap before mumbling a quiet 'yeah'. She looks a little disappointed that she didn't get much of a response from either of us.

She shrugs and crawls over me to get out of bed and find her clothes in the pile on the floor. I steal a glance towards Stan, but he isn't looking in my direction. He still has his head in his hands and he's still muttering curse words to himself.

"I hope to see you two again sometime soon," the girl says once she's dressed. She blows a kiss to each of us before opening the door of the hotel room and disappearing into the hallway.

"Stan…" I start. I'm not entirely sure what to say, but it was going to be something about last nights events.

"Kyle, don't," he says, his voice a little snappy.

I don't say anything. I just wait for him to continue talking. There's a long silence between us, and for a moment, I figure he won't say anything more.

"Let's just forget about it okay?" he says finally.

For whatever reason, my heart sinks. It should be a good thing that he just wants to forget about it and not let it make everything between us awkward. But for whatever reason, I don't like the idea of forgetting it and moving on.

Maybe I don't want to forget it.

* * *

><p><strong>What an adventure that chapter was lol. That was actually finished a lot faster than I thought it would be finished. Expect chapter four soon! Also expect a lot of awkwardness between these two dude bros. Leave reviews and shit!<strong>


	4. 4: Cattails and City Lights

**Chapter Four**

**Cattails and City Lights**

_Stan's P.O.V_

It's been awkward between me and Kyle for about a week. We really only talk now if we need to. Y'know, simple things like 'What do you wanna do for dinner?' or 'We should probably stop spending cash willy nilly' or 'Eventually we're gonna have to get jobs'.

I swear, we act like a couple that's been married for far too long. And that bothers the hell out of me.

Kyle keeps trying to make things normal again, but I keep pushing him away. I'm not trying to, and I feel really bad about it, but I can't really help it. I'm just awkward around him because I don't know how to deal with the fact that I jacked my best friend off. And I really don't know how to deal with the fact that as far as I can remember, I really enjoyed myself.

I spend the next week determinedly trying to avoid Kyle while I question my sexuality. The week passes by so excruciatingly awkwardly that I almost have the desire to return home.

"Hey, Stan..."

I sigh as Kyle speaks, and I can tell by his tone that he's going to try to fix the situation for the fiftieth time. Apparently his thoughts were trailing down the exact same road as mine in the exact same moment.

"What, Kyle?"

I hear him take a deep breath as if he's been working up to this moment for a long while.

"If things are gonna be awkward between us forever because of some stupid drunken... mistake, then I want to go home," he says finally. I notice him linger over the word 'mistake'. His words put me in a slight state of shock though, and I'm not entirely sure how to respond. My eyes widen and I eventually bring them up to lock with Kyle's concentrated green orbs. I'm not able to hold his gaze for long, though, because his eyes bore into me hard. It's actually really intimidating, like he's daring me to say something about our escapade with that girl.

I'm at loss for words, and I can still feel Kyle's stare on me, though I refuse to meet his eyes again. The hem of my shirt is suddenly very interesting.

"Look at me, Stan," Kyle says. The tone of his voice is sharp and very clearly pissed off. My eyes drift slowly upwards to meet his. He's wearing that same expression he wears whenever Cartman says something to rip on Jews. I manage to hold his gaze this time, but I have to fight pretty hard not to drop my eyes back down to my lap.

"I really am trying to just forget about it so we can be friends again. That's what you wanted. It was you who told me specifically to forget about it, remember? It's you who refuses to 'forget about it'. You're the one who won't say a fucking word to me because you're afraid of looking like you're gay for me. I'm not fucking stupid, Stan. I know it meant nothing, but it already happened, and there's no changing that. So we either need to move the fuck on or go the fuck home."

Kyle's speech leaves me racking my brain for a response and hoping I don't look like an idiot.

"I don't wanna go home, but I really don't wanna keep doing this either," I mumble truthfully. I just now realise how badly I fucked this up.

"Then what do you want, Stan?" Kyle asks, not even a little less irritated with me.

"I want us to be friends again." I'm not sure why I'm suddenly half-assedly spilling out feelings, but I know it has something to do with not wanting to lose Kyle.

I wouldn't say that aloud, though. As ashamed as I am to admit it, Kyle's right. I don't wanna look gay. I guess years of public schooling will program that mindset into you.

"Then stop being such a fucking dick about it." Kyle's words jolt me out of my train of thought. He's right again. I am being a dick, and it pisses me off that I don't know how to stop.

"This is just how I deal with things, Kyle, I'm not trying to be an ass. You're just pissing me off," I snap. I instantly regret the harsh tone of my voice.

The change in Kyle's face is almost immediate. He goes from trying to be civil to completely finished with the conversation, and finished with me.

"Fuck you too, Stan."

That's all he says before he gets up from the bed across the room and storms out through the door, slamming it behind him.

Guilt swells up in my stomach, and the thoughts rushing through my mind make me start to feel like fucking Captain Hindsight.

If I had just cut the bullshit and been honest, this would've gone differently.

I should've stayed sober that night.

I shouldn't have left home in the first place.

Why didn't I try to stop him from leaving?

That last one turns my feelings of guilt to those of anxiousness.

What the hell is Kyle going to do alone in the ghetto of Denver?

It doesn't take me long to bolt to the door and follow after him, leaving the office chair spinning behind me. I don't stop to look for him in the hall, and I don't pause to wait for the elevator either. Instead, I take the stairs two at a time, and my heart sinks when I reach the lobby and Kyle isn't there. I look around frantically and approach the bellhop.

"Did you see where my friend went? The tall one with the curly red hair?" The question almost comes out sounding like a demand with my urgency.

The bellhop just shrugs.

"He left. Didn't say where to," is all I get for an answer.

I resist the urge to start bitching the guy out and instead rush out the glass doors of the hotel and try to spot Kyle through the throng of the crowd. Despite how easy he should be to see, I can't find him at all. I utter a curse under my breath and set off in a random direction, hoping I'll run into him and then remember how to get back to our residence.

_Kyle's P.O.V._

I don't know where the hell I'm going. It was irrational of me to just take off like that, but I wasn't getting anywhere with Stan. There was also the issue that everything coming out of his mouth hurt, and I didn't want to listen to it anymore.

Now I couldn't get back to the hotel even if I wanted to. It only does more to piss me off when I am reminded of when I ran off a week ago to come here. Maybe I should stop trying to solve my problems by running away from them.

I angrily push my way through the crowd, receiving several dirty looks from several different people. It's not long before I find myself standing in front of the Greyhound station, completely by accident.

I still have plenty of money in my pocket, despite having left the rest of my possessions at the hotel. I hate myself for the thought that crosses my mind, though it's definitely appealing.

I could easily just return home. I'm sick of living in that cooped up hotel with Stan and his shitty outlook on everything. He's smart though; he'll realise where I've gone, and then he'll come back to South Park too. We could pretend this whole damn thing never happened.

Except that's not something Stan would do. Knowing him, he'd make the whole situation worse and our group would split up even more because he would probably never talk to me again.

Nothing I can possibly think of works as a solution with a happy ending. This frustrates me more than I can put into words, and I let out a cry as I kick the stone wall in front of me. It hurts my toes a lot more than it hurts the wall.

I have to fight back tears in my eyes as I slide my back down the wall and hug my knees to my chest in defeat. Since I don't appear to have many other options, I settle for sitting here wallowing in my own self pity while I wait for Stan to inevitably find me.

I don't talk to anyone, I don't even look at anyone. I rake my hands through my hair, nearly pulling some of it out to try to keep myself from bursting into a pathetic mess of tears.

My efforts are wasted though, because I'm soon reduced to nothing but gross sobbing with my face covered in a disgusting mix of tears and snot.

Stan still hasn't shown up, and I begin to worry that maybe he won't find me. By this point, I'm exhausted and depressed and pissed off all mixed into one emotion, and I just want to go home. I don't care whether Stan finds me or not.

I stand up, dust myself off, and fish around in my pocket for a few quarters. I hang my head as I walk across the street to the payphone, my stride slow and defeated. I'm actually incredibly ashamed of what I'm about to do.

My fingers tremble as I insert the coins, and I almost have second thoughts about dialing the number after I've put all the quarters in.

I have to remind myself that at this point, I don't have much of a choice, so I need to suck it up and call home.

My fingers dance slowly across the keypad as I punch in the area code and then the following seven digits. I take a deep breath to compose myself before trying to figure out what I'm going to say.

I don't have much time to do this though, because the second dial tone is cut short when someone answers.

"Broflovski residence."

It actually hurts a little bit to hear how clearly depressed my mother sounds. I guess that's my fault though.

"Uh... Mom?" is all I can manage to get out. So much for any hope of eloquency.

I hear a gasp on the other end of the phone.

"Oh my god, Kyle! Gerald, Kyle's on the phone! Kyle, bubbala, where are you? We're so glad you called. Are you okay?" My mother's thick jersey accent comes through the phone in a harsh shriek, and I have to strain to make out the words because it sounds like she's sobbing harder than I was less than a minute ago. I chew my lip while I try to decide whether or not to answer her questions, but my internal debate is cut off at the sound of a slight struggle followed by my father's voice.

"Kyle? Please come home to us, your mother and I are worried sick. We miss you," he says.

For whatever reason, neither of my parents' sentiments evoke tears like the altercation with Stan did. My brain tells me that of course my parents love me, and they want me back home, but my heart tells me that I won't be any happier back home. Still, what other choice do I have?

"I... I want to come home," I say softly, tears welling up in my eyes again. They aren't tears for my family though; they're tears of defeat. I'm crying because as much as I don't want to go home, I don't think I'll be able to make it out here without Stan, so I need to go home.

"We're glad to hear that, Kyle. Just tell us where you are and we'll come pick you up."

"I'm-"

"Kyle what the fuck are you doing?!"

I didn't even hear or see Stan come up from behind me, but I am made fully aware or his presence when he yanks the phone from my hand and slams it back down on the receiver.

The tears start falling again.

"I want to go home, Stan."

_Stan's P.O.V_

It's a miracle I even find Kyle standing by the payphone, no doubt calling home and giving up on everything we've worked for. Though I feel an inkling of irritation at that, I don't think I've ever been so thankful to spot those fiery red curls in my life. I practically bolt across the street, and I think I knocked a few people over in the process, but I reach him just in time to stop him from giving away our location.

The words that come out of his mouth don't surprise me. He's obviously more miserable here than he ever was in South Park, and I feel a pang of guilt in my stomach, knowing that's mostly my fault.

"Kyle, look I'm sorry, please, don't give up on this. I was being a dick, and I'm sorry, okay? Just please don't give up and go home. We've come too far for that, and I don't want to be the one to have fucked this up for us," I say. Words are practically spilling out of my mouth. I probably look really desperate. Kyle locks eyes with me and it pains me to see his face tearstained and lined with misery. He exhales a shaky sigh before speaking again, and his words are broken up when he shudders and hiccups, still recovering from heavy sobbing.

"I don't really wanna go home. I just don't want to lose you, and I can't do this without you."

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat before acting on impulse and pulling him into an embrace.

"I'm really sorry, okay? Can we please try again?" I whisper, burying my face in his unwashed mop of hair.

Kyle instinctively wraps his arms around me, and I can feel him nod against my shoulder before pulling away.

"Yeah," he says, the corners of his lips turning up a bit. "Thanks."

I return the weak smile and sling an arm around his shoulders, leading the two of us away from the phone.

"Let's go somewhere," I suggest as we walk down the street, soliciting states from the other residents of Denver, Colorado.

Kyle cocks an eyebrow, probably somewhat weary of going anywhere with me, considering the last time we went somewhere, it ended awkwardly and turned into a shitfest for everyone.

"Did you have somewhere in mind? No bars," he says, and the remark actually brings a grin to my face.

"A ways away there's a little pond where the geese always hang out. I'm sure we could see the stars once it gets dark," I offer. I don't mention the fact that we'd probably have to take a cab there.

Kyle smiles and nods eagerly.

"That actually sounds really nice." He chuckles awkwardly. "We really need to do something relaxing."

The two of us continue down the street until we can manage to flag a taxi cab down, and our conversation is almost normal, nearly every trace of awkwardness gone.

The sun is setting when we pull up to a group of restaurants not too far away from the pond. Kyle pays the driver and we get out, crossing the street away from the buildings and the people.

We weed our way through a brush of cattails and tall grass, eventually coming out in front of the pond, where a few geese paddle around in the water, their reflections clear on the surface of the pond. The place kind of reminds me of Stark's Pond, which provides a contradicting combination of comforting familiarity and eerie reminders of the place we had escaped from.

I lead the way through more cattails and to a secluded area, not too far away from the water. The geese scatter as we approach.

It's getting dark now, but so far, no stars can be seen, and we can still clearly hear cars rushing past on the road behind us.

"This is nice," Kyle says, breaking the silence. I nod and direct my gaze towards the sky where dusk is just beginning to fall.

"Not as peaceful as Stark's Pond, but it has a sort of peaceful city charm," I say turning my head to flash Kyle a grin before laying flat on my back, taking off my jacket and using it as a pillow. Kyle follows suit, though he just puts his hands behind his head rather than taking off his jacket. Maybe that was smart though, because it's fairly chilly outside.

We lay there together in peaceful silence, simply enjoying each other's company for a while. Neither of us breaks the silence until it's nearly pitch black outside and only about a dozen stars can be seen.

"I guess that's one thing that was better about South Park. The stars were gorgeous, but you can't see any out here," Kyle says. It doesn't sound like he's complaining. He's simply observing, and I'm comforted by the fact that there isn't even a hint of homesickness in the tone of his voice.

"That's true. They're there though. The city lights are just stealing most of the spotlight," I remark, trying to spot a constellation in the few scattered stars across the sky. I can't even spot the big dipper.

"I'd rather be here and not be able to see any stars than be back in that hellhole and have all the stars in the universe though," Kyle says.

"I know how you feel. We'll get our shit together, and then we'll make a life for ourselves here. We won't have to go back, and we won't want to ever again, okay? Not for all the stars in the universe."

I can barely see him smile at me in the dark, and I return the smile as I boldly reach over and take one of his hands in mine.

* * *

><p><strong>HOLY FUCK IM SO SORRY THAT TOOK FOREVER AND THE CHAPTER IS SO SHORT AND SHITTY BUT I PROMISE UPDATES WILL BE FASTER AFTER THIS OKAY OH GOD. But I would like to thank DatLittleStar for reviewing, that made me so happy to read. Ily and thank you so much. Okay, I'm off to write the next chapter xD<strong>

**Update: I just rered it and noticed formatting was off and there were typos so I fixed it and now it's a little less shitty. I mention Kyle's hair several times in this chapter, I think I'm obsessed  
>Also that pond is a real place :D I live in Parker, which is right next to Denver, so I drew from what I knew<strong>


	5. 5: Idiotic, Unrequited, & Entirely True

**Chapter Five**

**Idiotic, Unrequited, and Entirely True**

_Ike's P.O.V._

Kyle called today. When the phone rang, my heart leapt five feet in my chest like it always does. For the past two weeks, every time the phone rang I had hoped it was Kyle. It never was. So when Kyle called earlier today, my heart did that same little jumpy dance, but my brain calmed it down within seconds as I reminded myself that Kyle wasn't ever going to call home.

Even with that knowledge, I still tramped down the stairs to see if it was him. By the time I got down there though, my parents were both huddled around the phone and they were both a sobbing mess. Of course, that only meant one thing. Kyle really had called.

That excitement was short lived though because the call cut off right before he told them where he was, and he didn't call back.

Now I'm laying in bed, desperately trying to fall asleep while my mother cries softly into the blankets and my father whispers comforting words to her. No one does anything to comfort me though. I think in their quest to regain their eldest son, they've completely forgotten about their youngest. That's fine with me, I guess. I want Kyle back as much as the next guy, as long as that next guy isn't Eric Cartman.

Whatever, I don't care how much I'm ignored as long as it means eventually I get my brother back.

Stan's P.O.V.

I think Kyle and I ended up falling asleep on the banks of the lake under the 'stars'. I certainly wouldn't have minded that if it weren't for the fact that we're awakened the next morning by the loud rush of traffic practically right next to our heads. Not to mention the fact that we're engulfed in the morning chill, which is not the most pleasant feeling to wake up to.

Kyle seems to be stirring beside me, and as he stretches, I turn and flash him a genuine smile. His hair is disheveled and there are a few stray pieces of grass tangled up with the curls. His eyes are dull and tainted with sleep, but in some way it's the most peaceful I've ever seen him.

"You seem to have slept well despite all that fucking noise," I say, nodding my head towards the morning rush hour traffic. Kyle laughs softly and shrugs.

"I guess I'm a heavy sleeper," he says in his quiet, scratchy morning voice. My cheeks flush red at the realization that I find his morning voice oddly sexy. Kyle tilts his head to the side and cocks a brow upwards. He looks like he's about to ask about my sudden change in complexion, but he must have decided not to because he just sighs lightly and gets up, brushing grass and a few bugs off of his body.

I look down and realize I'm covered in much of the same flora and fauna. I must have leapt up in record speed to brush off the tiny little bugs because Kyle lets out a hearty laugh as he watches me dance around to get them all off. I shoot him a playful glare once I'm certain they're all safely off my person.

"What? I don't like bugs," I say as I pull on my jacket after checking it for more of the little critters. Kyle is still suppressing giggles.

"You check your hair yet?" he asks with a playful shitfaced smirk. My eyes widen a bit as I realized I actually hadn't. I run my hands frantically through my hair, hoping no one had thought to make a home on top of my head. I pull my hands away and notice they're covered in quite a bit of bug mess.

"Goddamnit," I mutter with a small sigh. Kyle chuckles again.

"Yeah, if I were a bug, I'd probably hide in that greasy tangled mess too," he says, grinning and running a hand through his own hair. I roll my eyes.

"Oh yeah 'cause your hair is so fantastic. It looks like a damn bird's nest right now," I tease, shooting back the same grin. Kyle gasps and feigns deep offense.

"Excuse you, my hair is prize hair. True perfection, Stan. Don't fuck with me," he says in a lighthearted tone I was beginning to think I'd never hear again.

"It can't be perfection if it looks like a family of beavers could live in it," I retort. I keep the fact that I adore his hair to myself.

"Fine, I'll wash it," he says. Before I can come up with another smart mouthed comment or even figure out what he really means, Kyle has stripped down to his boxers and is running towards the lake. As he takes a running leap into the water, I'm completely doused with what feels like arctic ice.

"Fuck, dude that's freezing!" I exclaim.

"It's a lot colder actually in the water, asshole!" Kyle shouts back, "Join me if you're not a pussy!"

I raise an eyebrow at the challenge and begin to have an internal debate with myself. I'm the kind of stubborn, bull headed person to never back down when challenged, but even just being splashed with that water made me think twice about it. I bite my lip as I slightly regret what I'm about to do, but that hesitation only lasts for a split second. In no time I'm also down to my boxers and standing in the frigid water next to Kyle. I'm shivering, my teeth are chattering, yet the stubborn side of me refuses to admit it was a stupid thing to do. Kyle flashes me a grin, though I can tell he's struggling to do it as much as his teeth are chattering.

"Had enough yet?" he asks, trying to make his voice sound confident, but he only betrays how cold he is himself because the words come out broken up by his clicking teeth.

"No. Have you?" I reply, my voice coming out much the same as his. Kyle's grin falters a little bit as he considers the fact that we're both stubborn assholes, and neither of us will likely give in until we've both got hypothermia.

"Absolutely not," he says despite that thought. I narrow my eyes, now all the more determined to outlast him. He has to get out first considering he got in first, and he's probably a lot colder than I am. Or he's gotten a lot more used to it than I have.

"Game on then," I reply, mustering that confident grin back up.

Neither of us are in the water for much longer though, as one of the people in the cars on the busy road has pulled over and gotten out.

"The fuck are you doing in the freezing water? Are you kids fucking skinnydipping? You'll freeze to death you fucking dumbasses! Get out of there!" the burly man shouts before getting back into his car. He doesn't stay to make sure we actually do get out of the water, but we figure as rude as he was, he was probably right, and we should get out. The two of us exchange a look of truce before we both trudge back to the bank of the lake and pull our clothes back on. I'm almost colder out of the water than I was in the water.

"How about we not do that again," Kyle suggests as we walk through the cattails and back onto the side of the road. I manage a bit of laughter through my still chattering teeth.

"Agreed," I answer, rubbing my arms in a feeble attempt to warm myself back up. I look around for a cab we might be able to hail, but there are none in sight, and it looks like we're either going to have to walk back to the hotel or we're going to have to call a cab and wait for it to show up. Neither of those options are particularly attractive because they both involve us being cold for a little while longer.

Kyle must've noticed this too, because after surveying the area, he grabs me by the wrist and leads me towards the plaza. I don't ask where we're going; I just hope it's somewhere warm. Thankfully, Kyle's observation of our surroundings has brought us to a cozy café with a convenient fireplace and leather couches.

I want to bolt for the couches and warm myself by the fireplace, but I figure if you step into a coffee shop, the polite thing to do would be to order something before you start hogging all the heat. The two of us approach the counter and I fish around in my pocket for any bills. I'm glad to come up with a ten, because the barista is looking very skeptical of us. Come to think of it, we look just about as homeless as we are. I order us a couple of hot chocolates and consider asking the barista to add extra hot to the chocolate. I don't though, considering she already is none too fond of us.

The two of us have to wait another few agonizing moments while our drinks are made, and I'm pretty sure Kyle is gazing longingly at the fire the entire time. Though I probably wouldn't have noticed this if I hadn't been gazing longingly at Kyle the whole time.

Both of our gazes are finally broken when our drinks are delivered. I hand the cashier the ten and tell him to keep the change. Drinks in hand, we both do this weird half jog, half walk thing over to the fireplace couches. We feel the annoyed stares of the stay at home moms there with their impressionable children and the disgusted glares of the esteemed businessmen on our backs. Neither of us could really give a shit though. The fire and warm drinks feel far too good for us to care about trivial thing. The hot chocolate burns my tongue, but the feeling is almost euphoric compared to the cold I felt earlier.

Funny the little things that make you happy when you're practically homeless.

_Kyle's P.O.V._

Stan is sitting incredibly close to me. Every once in a while his thigh will brush against mine and send shivers up my spine. This time the shivers aren't from the cold though. They're from the simple idea of Stan's skin against mine. I know we just got over all the awful awkwardness, but I still can't help thinking these thoughts. If my mother knew what had provoked these thoughts, I'd likely never see the light of day again. She'd probably be a whole lot more open to the idea if she knew of the feelings behind the sexual desire.

As much as I know it's not going to do me any good, and as much as I know it's really fucking stupid, I've developed feelings for Stan. That little escapade last night really sealed the deal for me. I spent my entire morning denying and trying to disprove whatever I have for Stan. The problem was that I couldn't. Whatever I have for Stan is idiotic, unrequited, and entirely true.

_Stan's P.O.V._

After Kyle and I have significantly warmed up and have grown tired of the irritation of the other customers, we head outside and call a cab to come pick us up and take us back to the hotel. As we wait for it to arrive, my gaze wanders up to Kyle's matted curls and a small smile dances over my lips when I notice that despite submerging himself in ice cold water, his hair still has a bird nest quality to it. Except now it's more like a wet bird's nest. The sight spurs another thought.

"When we're out in public like this, do you think people know we're homeless?" I wonder aloud, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window of the café. Kyle's features change slightly as he ponders the question.

"Probably," he says with a shrug. It doesn't seem to bother him. It bothers me a bit though. I don't like thinking people will purposely avoid me or respect me less if they thought a certain thing about me. I guess the opinions of other people play a far bigger part in my life than I would like them to.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really. They've got their own baggage. We'd prefer to run away from ours and that's what works for us," he says. That bothers me a little too. I don't like to think we're running away from our problems. I don't like to think of myself as a coward.

"But we're not really running away from anything, right? It's more like we're running towards whatever the future holds for us," I rationalize, more for myself than for Kyle. Kyle just shrugs again.

"Maybe running isn't so bad," he says after a while, "We're happy doing it, aren't we? If being happy cowards is what works for us then it's fine."

I chew my lip for a moment, but before I can come up with an argument, the taxi pulls up to the curb. It saves me momentarily from continuing my thoughts or preoccupying myself with other people's opinions.

The two of us are silent the whole cab ride. I've started to realize that most of the things Kyle and I talk about have been things we can't exactly say in front of other people. If any random passerby or taxi driver heard our conversations, they'd either think we were fugitives or total gaywads. Or maybe both.

Thing is, they'd technically be right.

Running away from home and missing school is grounds for an arrest, so that takes care of the fugitive assumption. As for the other one…

I don't know if Kyle is gay or not. And I don't know whether I am. I had thought for the longest time that I was straight. In fact, I had total confidence in that fact. Until this little adventure, I was as straight as can be. I don't know what set it off, but for the past few weeks I have found myself strangely attracted to Kyle.

Maybe it's the fact that we've spent weeks crammed in the same hotel room with only each other for company. Or maybe it's because when you run away with someone you get to learn a lot more about them, and it brings you a lot closer. Whatever the reason is, my emotions are thrashing around in my chest and my heart pounds every time Kyle and I are close to each other.

That being said, I'm not entirely sure I want him to put his dick in my ass. It's not something I had ever really thought too much about because I had always been occupied putting my dick in girls, more specifically Wendy. It sounds like it would be painful, but maybe I'd grow to enjoy it. It sounds kind of shallow I guess, but I'd hope I'd be topping most of the time.

Now I'm getting ahead of myself. What's to say I'd ever even get the chance to fuck Kyle? For that to happen, I'd have to admit my feelings - risking that terrible awkwardness again - and he would have to feel the same. That's something I really can't see happening. I'm sure Kyle just sees us as super best friends.

That hurts a lot to think about. I've never really experienced wanting someone who I couldn't have. My feelings have always been strictly for Wendy, and when we broke up, I was always certain we'd get back together, so it didn't bother me. Now, I see virtually no chance of ever being able to be with Kyle and that hurts like a bitch.

Thankfully, I'm jerked out of my desperation when the taxi pulls up to our hotel and Kyle nudges my arm to let me know. By now, the bellhop is used to our presence, and doesn't mind how homeless we look as long as we can actually pay for our stay. I'm sure the moment we can't we'll be on the street faster than a hooker out of cocaine.

Once we're up to our room, I head straight for my bed. It may only be morning, but it has been an exhausting morning and I need to rest. I pull the covers up to my chin and relish in the warmth. My eyes are about ready to droop closed when Kyle speaks my name softly.

"Yes?" I reply, a little irritated because I was about to sleep, but not too irritated since it was Kyle getting my attention.

"You were practically in a trance the whole ride home. What were you thinking about?"

The question catches me off guard and I'm no longer about to sleep. I'm very alert. I either had to come up with a believable lie or admit my feelings and the latter did not seem like a very good option.

"W-why do you ask?" Kyle narrows his eyes at the stuttered response and shrugs like he really means nothing by asking.

"Just wondering. I figured it was important."

"Not really," I manage, though I suppose it really was something of importance, "I was just wondering what was going on at home, I guess."

_Cartman's P.O.V._

In the past three or four weeks, I have discovered what true loneliness is. With Stan and Kyle gone, I don't have anyone to hang out with save for Butters, and let's face it. No one wants to hang out with Butters. Kenny's always busy checking for leads on our runaway lover friends, and apparently Craig hates me for some reason.

So I've been spending most of my lunches and off periods jumping from clique to clique in an attempt to find someone to hang out with. It's a little depressing, and because of this I almost stooped low enough to start hanging out with the goth kids.

I narrowly avoided that though because within the last three days, I have found the perfect group for myself. I've finally found who I fit in perfectly with.

The stoner kids.

It sounds bad, doesn't it? It sounds like I'm following in my mother's footsteps and going down a path of self-destruction. I'm not though, at least I don't think I am. I'm only smoking pot. How bad could that really be? It's not like it's meth or anything like that.

Thing is, the stoner kids don't care whether you're a slightly overweight narcissist who spends most of his time playing with his dolls or brooding over his daddy issues. They'll share weed with anyone who needs it, and since Stan and Kyle have gone, I've really needed it.

Looking from someone else's perspective, I likely look fucking pathetic, not being able to get on with my life without my friends and needing drugs to get over the fact that they're gone. Looking from my perspective, however, it's not so bad. All of the stoner kids have something going on to have made them a stoner in the first place, and a lot of them were cool people to begin with.

I mean, Bebe's gotta deal with the asshole her mom is engaged to, and Token's pretty fucking sick of having to live up to his parents' expectations. Justin Hall has parents who praise everything his siblings do, but don't exactly think having the biggest penis in the fourth grade is a fantastic achievement. Sadly, that's the only achievement he has to hang on to.

The only problem with hanging around stoners is the fact that people start thinking you're a hippie. I swear on my life, I am not a dirty hippie. There's a difference between using drugs to get over your shitty life and using drugs for no reason.

Right?

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><p><strong>FINALLY AN UPDATE LMAOOOOO And finally these assholes admit they're feelings to themselves, maybe now we'll get somewhere. And idk why but I just got really excited about that Cartman side story. Thanks for the reviews and follows and favs I love you all you make me so happy! Hopefully the next update will be sooner haha<strong>


	6. 6: Job Searching

**Warning: There's lots of sexy stuff in this chapter so if you're not into that, just don't read it. Why are you reading an M fic anyway if you don't like it? Okay screw it, you're all here for the sexy stuff. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

**Job Searching**

_Kyle's P.O.V._

For once, our time together as teenage runaways has been calm and peaceful. No awkwardness at all and no drama. It's kind of weird considering the last few weeks we've had.

The only problem we're facing now is the fact that we're almost out of money and I don't get the feeling the hotel manager would just let us stay because he likes us. I brought it up to Stan earlier today but he seems a little preoccupied with something else, not that he'll tell me what it is. That's fine though, I guess. I just wish he'd talk to me a little more.

Jesus I sound like a clingy girlfriend.

Although if I'm being honest, 'clingy girlfriend' is better than trapped in shitty gay feelings for your best friend that won't be returned in a million years.

Okay so maybe we're not entirely drama free.

I've been brooding over my feelings for Stan for the last week, and I really need to stop. The feelings are more annoying than anything else. We'll be having dinner or we'll be roaming the streets or doing some other completely normal thing, but I always get distracted by some minute new thing I've never noticed about Stan before. Like how broad his shoulders are or how he has a pretty nice ass for a guy or how defined his collarbones are. Stupid shit like that.

Thing is, no matter how hard I try, I can't get this asshole out of my head. I really need to do something about this problem, but I don't know how to resolve it. I've never been good with feelings, especially when they involve another guy. The only possible solution that comes to mind is telling him how I feel, and that is absolutely not an option. Things were bad enough after that drunken sexual encounter with what's-her-name, and adding feelings into the mix would only make things worse.

But it's not like I'm going to ever get over these feelings without telling him, so I figure I have to be brave about it. I'll do it tonight, I tell myself. I'm not sure if I believe myself, but making this promise will have to suffice for now.

Now, Stan and I are desperately scouring the newspaper and the internet for jobs. It's not easy when you're trying to find a job that pays at least medium wage and will hire someone who's practically homeless.

Stan thinks he's found somewhere, but he won't tell me until he's sure about it. He's been not telling me a lot lately. I try to rationalize this by telling myself he wants it to be a surprise, but my gut tells me there's something shady about it. I suppose I'll find out this afternoon though, because he's going there to pick up an application and check the place out.

I, however, have had zero luck finding a job. Maybe that's because I'm a whole lot pickier than Stan is. I don't' want to work anywhere that could be considered dirty and lowly, and I also don't want to have to do much physical work, and customer service isn't my favorite thing in the world either. I think I really need to lower my standards though, because those are the only jobs available to homeless teens.

I throw the newspaper down on the tiny little table adjacent to the tiny little kitchen in the hotel room.

"I'm done. Fuck the job market," I sigh. Stan chuckles under his breath.

"It'll get better," he assures me, "Hopefully the place I've found will work out and we'll have at least a little more money."

There he goes, mentioning that mystery job again. It only does more to peak my curiosity, but I don't ask him about it because when it comes to Stan, questions don't get anyone anywhere.

"Yeah, hopefully," I reply simply, plopping myself down on the bed and directing my gaze towards the ceiling.

It occurs to me that before I ran away, I should've thought about all the responsibilities that would follow. That's not to say I miss my life at home, no matter how many more responsibilities I have here. It's hard, no doubt about it, but I also don't have any doubt that Stan and I will figure it out. His words from a week ago still ring through my head.

We won't ever want to go back. Not for all the stars in the world.

_Stan's P.O.V._

I was really beginning to think I would never find a job in the mess of requirements and preferences, so I was both relieved and sick to my stomach when I saw the post about a job opening at that bar.

I was pretty sure it was the only opportunity I was going to get, so I decided to go in later today and ask about the job while I picked up an application.

I didn't tell Kyle what or where the job was though, because I wasn't entirely sure how he would react to it. I also had no desire to dredge up all the awkwardness we both associate with that bar.

It's nearly 2 in the afternoon, so I figure I should leave for the bar now. I tell Kyle I'm heading out, and I oddly have to resist the urge to peck him on the cheek as I leave through the door like we're an old married couple. He barely looks up from the job section in the newspaper though, and I get the feeling he's mad at me for not telling him where I'm going.

He'll find out soon enough though, as much as I'm dreading that moment.

I decide against wasting more money on a cab. After all the times we've ridden them, it seems like half of our money has been poured into transportation. Instead, I start walking to the bar.

Maybe it was a bad decision, because walking only gives me more time to replay the events of that fateful night over and over again in my head. I'm pretty sure that when I finally reach the bar, my face is tomato red.

I approach the current bartender and sit down on one of the stools in front of him. He asks if I want a drink, and my gaze wanders longingly towards the liquor stacked behind him. I've been craving a drink for a while now; I just haven't been brave enough to drag my ass back to this bar. I briefly consider whether it would look bad on my part if I asked for a whiskey and a job application.

I figure it wouldn't look too bad. I was applying for a job at a bar after all. If I were hiring a bartender, I'd want him to be able to hold his liquor. So I settle for both.

A couple hours and a lot of drinks later, I'm pretty sure the bartender has lost all interest in hiring me. I can't help it. The second I get anywhere near alcohol, I'm bound to get shitfaced.

Which I very much am at the moment. I think I'm slipping off my stool.

Oh look, there's the floor.

When your head hit's a wooden floor, it isn't a very pleasant sensation. I have no desire to get up after this, so I just lay there, watching people's legs pass by me in my peripheral vision. I think maybe I should text Kyle and tell him to come get me, but I think I've forgotten how to move my arms. My phone is somewhere in my back pocket, and I don't feel like moving to access it.

I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that someone finally stops to see if I'm okay. It's a good thing because the tiny sober part of my mind tells me I need help, but it's a bad thing because I am a little too familiar with the face that crouches slightly above me. Somehow, in my drunken state of mind, I remember the girl's name.

"Fuck, Autumn, is that you?" I slur, my words coming out to reflect my slightly pissed off subconscious.

"Hey, baby. You need some help? Where's your friend?" she asks, her curtain of copper hair falling over my face as she moves to help me up into a sitting position. I jerk my arm out of her grasp and pull myself to my feet using the bar stool.

"I don't need your help! You fucked up things with me and Kyle!" I shout. Half the bar turns to witness my drunken outburst. Her soft face falls into a pouty expression.

"You know I didn't mean to. I was just after a little fun," she purrs, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Well the morning after wasn't fun!" I shrug off her touch again.

"Maybe not, but it sure as hell was fun in the moment."

I have my mouth open to scream another unintelligible something at her, but I don't get to finish because I hear my name being called across the bar and through the crowd.

"Stan!" Kyle emerges from the crowd, and I don't think I've ever seen him look more pissed off. Not even at Cartman. Still, I'm very happy to see him, and my slight fear of his anger doesn't stop me from rushing to meet him and enveloping him in a giant hug.

"Kyllllllleee," I murmur contentedly into his shoulder. I hear him exhale an exasperated sigh.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His eyes flicker towards Autumn standing behind me, "And why is she with you?"

"I just wanna go home, Kyle. She's bothering me," I mumble, ignoring both of the questions entirely. I feel Kyle lose some of his tension in my arms, and he softens a bit, though he is definitely still pissed.

"Fine. We'll go back to the hotel," he says, maneuvering himself out of my grasp and wrapping one of my arms around his shoulders so he can drag me home. Then he turns to the girl. "And please, don't talk to us again."

Autumn rolls her eyes, though I can't tell if it's a gesture of annoyance or hurt. Either way, I doubt she'll be fucking with us again. Literally or figuratively.

Kyle is quiet the whole way home, and I don't say anything either. Even in my drunken state, I can tell he's brooding over his anger and now would not be the time to try to be humorous.

Kyle manages to get me up the stairs and into our hotel room, and I'm a little scared he's going to yell at me once the door is closed behind us.

He doesn't though. He just sighs and talks to me with a voice entirely calm.

"What were you doing at the bar, Stan?" he asks. Though his voice is calm, his eyes bore into me hard.

"It's where I was trying to get a job," I answer honestly, being careful not to slur too much. That's probably not very believable, considering I'm pretty sure I left the application on the counter. Kyle raises an eyebrow, and I can feel the disbelief in his gaze.

"Why was Autumn there?"

"I just ran into her, I swear! I didn't want to talk to her!" The drunken slur has returned to my voice with along with my overly defensive attitude.

"Really? You're sure you weren't looking for an easy fuck?" he asks. I furrow my brow, trying to figure out why I can detect a hint of jealousy in his voice. I don't answer with more intoxicated explanation.

My drunk self acts on impulse, and I grab Kyle by the collar of his jacket and pin him against the wall, planting a firm and heated kiss on his lips.

_Kyle's P.O.V._

To say that I'm taken aback by the kiss would be a grave understatement. A choked noise of surprise resonates through my throat, and I greet his kiss warmly and eagerly. He tastes overwhelmingly of alcohol, and part of me worries he's only doing this because he's drunk off his ass, but most of me doesn't give two shits about the motive behind it. I just want to kiss him back.

So I do.

I lose myself in him, and I kiss back roughly, letting him know how badly I want him. I let my hands wander down to the waistband of his jeans and I walk him backwards until the backs of his legs bump into the bed.

I gently nudge him down until his head rests on the pillow and I have his hips pinned down to the bed with my own. My lips crash against his, and he entangles his hands in my curls, pulling my head even closer to his and intensifying the kiss.

He struggles to move his hips under mine, and I grin into the kiss as I roll my hips, grinding them against his. Stan's hands mover from my hair down to the hem of my shirt as he takes it off and chucks it somewhere across the room. In turn, I practically yank his over his head and drop it beside the bed.

After this momentary break, my lips return to his to continue the heated kiss. They don't stay there for long though. Soon, my lips wander down his neck, and I pause in one spot, kissing, sucking, and nipping to leave a dark hickey. I move my lips back up to nibble on his ear lobe, and I hear him exhale a scratchy moan into my hair.

I move my kisses back down to his collarbone, and I continue to roll my hips against his. I succeed in getting him even more worked up. My lips and tongue continue to work down his torso and to his hips, just above the waistband of his jeans.

"Kyle, please…" he breathes above me.

I don't hesitate much after the half formed request. My hands move up his legs to undo his jeans, and I make quick work of pulling them off his body and allowing them and his boxers to join his shirt on the floor.

I move to take his hard cock in my mouth, and I start to pleasure him, sucking and moving my tongue in all the right places. According to the sounds he's making, I'm not bad at giving blowjobs, especially for a first timer.

As much as I enjoy pleasing him though, I'm feeling just as needy as he is, and I need something from him as well. I take my lips from his cock and move them back up his body, hearing a needy whimper in his throat. I nip at his earlobe again before speaking softly.

"Fuck me," I whisper in his ear, grinding my still clothed hips against his. Stan responds eagerly to the request, rolling his hips back against mine and pulling himself into a sitting position. As his lips engulf mine again, he manages to get my pants and boxers off with me on his lap, though the maneuver is somewhat awkward.

"You ready?" he breathes, placing his hands on my hips.

I nod in response, though the thought that we don't have any lube is a little intimidating. I don't care too much though. All I know right now is that I need him. Badly.

"I'll go slow, okay?" he assures me as he moves my hips so that his dick is right up against my ass.

Again, I simply nod and grip his shoulders as he pushes himself into me. I give a soft involuntary yelp of discomfort, but that discomfort doesn't last long, as he gives me time to adjust to him.

After a few moments, I give him the okay to keep going, and he starts slowly bucking his hips into mine. Stan tilts his head up to kiss me again, and this kiss is even more heated than before. I roll my hips against his, picking up the pace a bit. As he plunges deeper into me, I let a strangled moan escape into our kiss. Stan speeds up his hips even more, and I dig my nails into his shoulders as I rock back and forth on his lap.

"Fuck… Kyle…" he moans between desperate kisses. I'm unable to form any words back in my ecstasy.

My nails sink deeper into his skin as I get closer and closer to my climax every time he hits my prostate. It's not too much longer before I'm engulfed in the most pleasurable feeling I've ever felt. I release myself over both of our stomachs, and Stan follows soon after, pulling away slightly in time not to fill my ass with seed.

Both of us are left breathing heavily, and Stan rests his head against my shoulder as he catches his breath. I notice we're both a mess, along with the bed sheets, but I'm far too tired to want to clean anything up. I resolve to shower in the morning.

"Far better than it could ever be with Autumn, huh?" I comment, flashing him a cheeky grin. Stan grins back.

"Hell yeah," he mutters under his breath before gently rolling me off of his lap and beside him on the bed, "You wanna sleep now?"

"Yeah. I'm exhausted after that." Stan's grin grows wider.

"Best orgasm of your life, huh?"

"Don't get cocky," I reply, pulling the covers over the two of us and nuzzling my head against his neck. He buries his face in my hair and sighs contentedly.

My last thought before I drift into sleep is that the morning after this one isn't going to be nearly as awkward as last time. In fact, I have the feeling it's going to be very different.

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><p><strong>Okay that was a quick update. Yay! I don't know why smut is so hard for me to write but oh god my face was bright red writing that whole chapter. I think it turned out pretty good though? Thanks for the reviews and follows and shit ily<strong>


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